


Vision

by The_Spiral_Staircase



Category: David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: 2016, Beautiful Italy, Gen, Grief, He somehow helps you Fix It (Whatever That Means), Holiday, JARETH!(not the worst Fae you could meet), Labyrinth References, Lifelong love, Love in AfterLife, Meeting David Bowie, This is Not a Mary-Sue This is a MARY, Ziggy (THE Vision), Ziggy and Ronno Happy at Last, end of summer, personal quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Spiral_Staircase/pseuds/The_Spiral_Staircase
Summary: If you still miss him so.And if you're willing to embark on a mysterious journey to meet him again in the end.Because he's got something important to say.
Relationships: David Bowie/His Fans, Ziggy Stardust/Mick Ronson (Ronno)
Kudos: 4





	1. 2016 Got Old and Died

What a year… thought Mary, pressing the heels of her hands on her weary eyes. Working time was over for the day, but there she was, still sitting at her desk.

She needed to get away for the summer, badly.

Only the end of July, but it felt as if things had already gone on too long. For sure, 2016 had quickly outstayed its welcome.

The year was not over, but all energy had gone out of it, it seemed.

Maybe in a very different place, she would be able to find a new start. Get some spark back in her life.

Another place… Italy, maybe, would do the magic?

Mary had friends there, who kept inviting her, and she had long wanted to pay a visit.

And there was something else calling her to Italy, something to do as a first thing: the Bowie Is… exhibition in Bologna. She had to go and see it. That she felt with all the determination she could feel.

On January 10th, in the evening, she had felt the same kind of determination. The news was just great: Bowie had a new album out, better than any expectations. As the last note of the last song faded into silence, she lay down with a smile and a firm thought: at all costs, this round, if he decides to show up, I’ll be there. How I want to see him! Big place, small place, faraway place, expensive as hell, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s nice to be sure about something.

The room was warm and she couldn’t help falling asleep on the couch. Then, a few hours later, in the cold grey early morning, her cell phone began to chirp and she got up yawning, to learn the bitter untimely news that no, David wouldn’t be showing up for long, like, forever. For the first time he wasn't just somewhere else in the world, but he had left, never to return.


	2. Bowie Is...

Dressed up for the occasion, Mary had walked to the exhibition under the Italian August sun, in her best platform sandals.

People at the museum looked rightfully happy and chatty, but she could find no words inside herself. She had become all eyes and no mouth.

She spent hours in there, with no real pleasure: it all was too much, too bright, too overpowering, even.

In the end, those familiar clothes started to look so painfully empty of his body, white dead-faced mannequins mimicking the shape of his flesh, only showing the shape of his absence... Such a stupid, painful thought.

Mary felt really really stupid, and pathetic, and a child, as she couldn't escape this one thought vibrating inside her heart: it was no use following scraps of paper covered in that girly handwriting of his, room after room. David was everywhere, all around, but he was nowhere to be found. How primitive, how immature of her to be stuck, never learning to accept what life brings...

So, in the end she had checked her make-up and made her way back to the station, head and heart full of a strange cottony feeling, like a protection from scorching emotions.

Lost inside, remote, numb like a living doll, she got her travelling bag back from the deposit and stepped on a blessed afternoon train to Central Italy.


	3. A Journey Underground

In the following ten days or so, Mary tried to make the best out of her holiday, letting Italy do the trick: the sun, the sea breeze, the scent of wild trees coming from the outback hills at the solitary hour before dawn, and the alluring food smells of the lit up waterfront restaurants in the evening.

Thanks to her friends, she could stay away from the biggest and busiest places in Tuscany and enjoy minor itineraries. There, she found peace and healing in art.

Now she only had a few days left before her holiday in Italy would be over. She had met her friends for a farewell dinner, before saying goodbye at the station: they had taken a train up to Firenze, while she had continued her way south to the conclusion of her journey.

“Magic Marches”, said the advert pay-off that kept coming back in her mind, over the buzzing sound of the fast speed train.

She needed to be alone and collect her ideas. It wasn’t time to fly away yet, rather it was time to go deeper, to travel inside, finally, to face herself, before going back home. Something was still missing.

Before taking the lift to her new hotel room she stopped atthe reception to pick up some leaflets. Among others, one caught her eye: “Guided excursions to the local Caves of Frasassi. Discover a secret world and make a wonderful journey underground”.

“Oh yes… and paying a little extra, you can even have Jareth as a tour guide!” was Mary’s ironic comment. However, she decided to get her ticket to the Caves, guided excursion included.

And a wonderful and magic journey that was. She loved it and was deeply impressed. Ok, she had no-one nearby to share her emotion with, but that way her fantasy could run free.

Shame! No sight of Jareth, Mary thought with a smile, on her way back to the guide’s mini-bus. Actually she had been thinking of him quite a lot, picturing his frame in many corners of that world below the world.

Well, Jareth was just a fictional character, like a fairy-tale prince in his way… And this, just playing with her mind, just fantasy, and sure it didn’t count for mourning, mourning again.

In the late afternoon Mary got back to the hotel, collected her travelling bag and off she went again: she was quite tired, but next on her list of special places to see, at a fair distance was Corinaldo, a mysterious and enchanting ancient village nestled in the country hills.

It wasn’t a famous place, basically it consisted of a group of century-old houses gathering around a castle, surrounded by historical walls, but it had given her a special fascination just by looking at the first picture while planning her journey, so she really fancied visiting there before leaving the country and spending the night in that magical place.

There was barely time to grab something to eat at the station, before stepping on the bus, but Mary was in a happy mood and she even managed to down some local red wine to celebrate, while waiting for her sandwich to come along. It was last days before getting back to work, so it was alright to treat herself to a little spoil. For example, she knew it would be quite late by the time she’d get to Corinaldo, so for once she would take a taxi from the bus station to there. Then, from the car park outside the old walls she would only have to walk up the stone stairway to the room she had booked online. And that's exactly what she did.


	4. The Midnight Wanderer

Midnight was quiet all around, under a clean sky, lit by a very full moon. The air felt sweet and so still, Mary could hear her steps echoing among the ancient houses, up the stone steps coiling around and through to the walled heart of the village. The taxi driver had said Corinaldo was a safe place, and it looked very safe. Very quiet.

She knew her way up to the B&B place, as she had looked it up carefully. Still, she couldn't help glancing around and feeling strangely wary. Maybe she was just tired...

Then she heard a soft faraway sound, like little bells chiming, or a distant glockenspiel... A beautiful, dreamy sound, but also more than a little creepy, so she looked around in the darkness of the ancient doorways and alleys, although she didn't know what she was dreading (or hoping) to see there.

She then perceived a movement at the top of the winding stairway that lead to the more ancient part of the village: there was actually someone else climbing the stairs, a couple of flights above her. Well, no wonder: midnight is not so late for tourists, in the holiday season, or is it? Mary started climbing, still looking up.

She couldn't see properly, as the street lighting was sparse and more romantic than functional, but... there! The person looked like a tall, thin woman with long hair. Strange, long hair that shone silvery-blond in the moonlight. And well, not just like any woman: she appeared to be wearing some long black, old-fashioned cocktail dress, and she was climbing the steps so slowly and solemnly, holding up what looked like the longest train Mary had ever seen.

Corinaldo was renowned for hosting a Hallowe'en festival, and sure they had to do some rehearsing for that… but, no, at a second glance, Mary decided the strange woman might be some opera singer or musician going home from her evening concert: there were plenty summer festivals all around the historical villages in the area and yes, that woman could very well be one of those weirdo harpists... But, my, what wide shoulders she has! thought Mary. And could it be she was wearing a... cloak?

Mary could hear the woman's heels click dramatically on the stone steps and although she knew it was absurd, she tried to be very quiet, like she didn't want the woman to hear. She laughed at herself In her heart, but she was actually a bit scared, as the strange woman looked like a proper fairy-tale witch!

Mary had barely finished formulating those words in her mind, when the tall black figure stopped, right under the cone of light of the street lamp, then suddenly turned around. God, that was no woman! It was a man. With hair like rat tails, slits of eyes, a wolfish smile, and the strangest face, like a fallen angel's. That was so absurd Mary felt faint. She knew that face.

She had no time to process the crazy idea that had reached her mind, as the mysterious man standing up there suddenly gave her a funny sly look, with a half smile, like he also knew her and had been perfectly aware of Mary all along, so he had been just showing off in his solemn movements!

The night air swirling around Mary’s head all of a sudden was making her sleepy. She couldn’t help closing her eyes for a second, then she looked again.

Now, as she slowly raised her eyes, she saw the man’s black cloak merging with the long black shadow by the side of the stairs, leading all the way up to the cold flame of his wild hair and pale face. And then the black shadow began moving and flowing and turning like a dragon's tail and now he was coming down the steps.

Mary felt her heart leap, and a whirlwind rushed up, as summoned from the heart of the night, carrying the scent of autumn coming. A thousand dry leaves flew chattering all around her, around them, because then he was standing there, right in front of her.

She had to look up at him, as he was much taller. Actually, no, not much, just taller, and he had stopped a couple of steps up, like on a pedestal. And that was just like Jareth, Mary's poor deluded mind found time to whisper.

Jareth.

He tilted his head to the side, with a little melancholy smile, like he had seen it all, like he knew everything about Mary, and he had been watching her for a long time.

"...You're such a child!", he suddenly said, in a casual, half-whining voice, like this was just part of a conversation that had been going on in his head.

"...Such a dreamer, you are! You kept dreaming of me the other day, in that cave... "

He threw his hand up in a mock-exasperated gesture:

"It made me so restless I had to come here and wait for you, to get this out of my system!"

Now, that’s too much, thought Mary, rubbing her eyes.

I'm dreaming, I'm just tired, this is Jareth, I must have fallen asleep...

She looked again and there he was still, leaning against a wall, right where the moonlight was reflecting in his eyes, and he was looking directly at her, so that they burned like hammered silver, like a wolf's grey eyes.

Mary could barely stutter: "I'm only dreaming, you can't...", then she tumbled down like a ragdoll, slumping by her big travelling bag.

But no, she wasn't dreaming at all, because when she collapsed Jareth didn't disappear, he just stared at her, then folded his arms, and finally sighed, as in resignation.

The night was still quiet all around, but for the crickets and the occasional hoot of a distant night-bird. It could have been just an average end-of-summer night in the ancient village, except there was an extravagant, ageless, fairy-tale vision towering over poor Mary, who lied abandoned on the steps like a puppet.

After a moment or two, the extravagant vision shrugged and crouched down near the unconscious girl and a disgruntled comment echoed on the stone stairwell walls:

"Oh yes, great company you make, human girls! ...Now, let's see what we can do with you…”


	5. Wake Up Dreaming

Wild eyes beyond masks, pointy ears, pointy breasts… peering like fish underwater. A nymph’s white flesh, a gloved fist in her crazy hair…

In a whirlwind of colours, spiraling all around, Mary thought she was falling through a shimmering darkness, hearing laughter, feeling soft fingertips brush her cheeks, her lips, until her heart leaped as for a brusque landing, and her eyes flashed open in a dream.

And what a sight she got of Jareth’s brazen grin, his poet’s shirt unbuttoned and a wild fairy girl-creature kneeling before him, only clad in her flaming and fantastically long hair, a pink-clawed hand on his chest and the other down his pants… Then suddenly she turned, pointing yellow eyes on Mary, her wet little red mouth shaped in mock outrage:

“But you’re spying on us, you… dirty!”

Mary didn’t want to wake up. It was so cosy under the blankets, the only thing disturbing her was a chilly breeze tickling her nose, so she rubbed it while still half asleep, then her breath hitched and she burst into a sneeze, suddenly wide awake and more than a little surprised to find that she wasn’t in bed at all, but out in the open!

She found herself in a sheltered corner of a minuscule courtyard, sitting with her back against the side of a big ancient doorway, all nicely wrapped up in her shawl, although she couldn't remember having pulled it from her bag. Good thing she had, anyway, as the early morning air was damp and almost cold.

She gingerly turned and looked up to read a sign: she was just outside the B&B place where she had booked her room for two nights! So she managed to get there, finally.

She yawned and slowly started to stand up, stretching her cramped back, while muttering:

"I can't believe I was so tired I actually slept here, on the outside… And what a fucked up dream I've had too!... you must be really careful around that Rosso Conero wine they have here... Can't even remember how I got to this place!"

She looked over the courtyard wall: the view was so peaceful, down to the lower part of the village and the whole valley, still sleeping in shadows. Then she looked the other way and saw that the sun rays of dawn were just peeping up behind a picturesque row of chimneys that lined the top of the roofs. All crooked, funny and old, those chimneys, a bit like... a small army of goblins! Or so she thought, with a scrap of a memory fluttering in the back of her brain, like a pesky night moth brushing her cheek. Quickly, she waved that image away, she didn't even want to consider it.

Feeling like a pilgrim at a medieval nunnery gate, Mary rang the bell, trying to pull a normal tourist's face for the sleepy-looking but smiling lady who let her in:

"…Buongiorno, is it too early? Yes, it’s me, I was supposed to check in quite late yesterday. I’m sorry… welI, I've had a... night problem."

After a most welcome breakfast and some rest on a proper bed, Mary finally had to face the fact that she was now completely awake. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to recollect her strange experience of the night before. She decided to go sightseeing, but wandering about the ancient and winding streets of Corinaldo actually didn’t help her mind to change subject.

So she sat down on a sun-warmed stone bench, with a sigh: she might as well surrender, no way she could tellif she'd just had a dream or not, but at least... no-one was harmed. Well maybe her sense of reality, a bit, but then...

Cruel, harsh reality, that’s what had stolen away every vestige of dream or sweet forgiving veil from her life: why stick to it? What good had come of that? Wasn’t that what she had tried to leave behind with this journey?

A scent of flowers wafted by and Mary felt like waking up: truth and answers will come in time, was the thought that emerged in her mind.

She got up and went on sightseeing around the picturesque ancient village, never feeling quite alone anymore.


	6. Summer's Goodbyes

For the following days, Mary chose to slow down: no sightseeing and absolutely no walking, she obviously still needed to rest and clear her mind, much more than she had thought.

A seaside place would be better, for a couple of days, just lazying on the beach and listening to the waves roll and sigh and whisper. Thinking of nothing. More or less.

There she was, lying on her huge towel, lazily, soaking in the warmth and the relaxing atmosphere. The place was stunning, but quite strangely empty of people: you could enjoy being alone with yourself and your thoughts, all the while not feeling lonely, because some discreet human presence was there in the background, to complete the perfect beach holiday picture.

Mary's mind felt at peace, empty and serene as the sky above her. Only, from times to times, a thin thread of melancholy seemed to creep into that peace, brought along by a cloud temporarily shading the sun. The afternoon finally approaching sunset, it was like an image of that very moment in the year, the season almost over, like the warm August day. There was still plenty of light, though, the air was sweet and the sky looked like a very high light blue crystal dome: so beautiful and fragile.

Soon it would be dark at this time of day and the waves would go on rolling on the empty beach just for themselves, like it had been there for countless years.

… Whoa… I must have fallen asleep again, Mary thought.

Am I alone? She wondered.

No, not really: there, some children playing in the distance and a family, just behind that heap of sand, but …they were already packing their things, she could tell from the noises.

She slowly rolled to her side on the warm sand to observe the scene from under her straw hat: Daddy had already wrapped up the beach umbrella and taken the heaviest bags up the slope towards the rocky steps that lead out to the car park.

Mummy had collected their children's things and was holding her little girl like a crying bundle in her arms, while trying to grab the hand of her eldest, a young boy. The kids didn't want to leave.

The wind carried the little girl’s sobbing, together with her Mummy’s soothing voice:

“Don't cry, we're coming back! You'll come back to play here, right here!", she kept promising, the way adults always do.

Quite the opposite, the young boy was silent, but he looked very sad and strangely serious. He had obediently changed out of his colourful swimming trunks and he was now fully clothed: his young skinny legs sticking out of his camo shorts and his blue long-sleeved shirt made him look older. He kept looking away with a sad expression in his eyes, at something faraway along the beach that only he could see, and as Mummy was dragging him by the hand, he looked one last time over his shoulder, sniffling and waving at someone who just wasn't there.


	7. A Mirage

Mary blinked, shading her eyes from the light. The sun had come back for a last encore, shining gold through monumental clouds, towering ultramarine blue and fiery orange above the violet ribbon of the sea horizon.

Something idle told her to look in the direction the boy had been gazing and mysteriously waving a few minutes before, and there she saw the air tremble and glow.

It seemed as if a mirage was forming there in the distance. Only it was not.

Someone was approaching from the other end of the beach, a silhouette framed in the glorious sunset light.

Someone was walking on the shore, towards her. Mary couldn't see properly.

It looked like a… youth. Thin, wild hair like a mane. He was shirtless and from the way he moved he had to be also barefoot, his feet slightly sinking in the sand.

The youth was actually looking at his feet while walking, only sometimes gazing up and around, smiling to himself as he slowly approached.

By then, Mary could tell, or she could feel, that she knew him. She knew the shape of that neck, like a young horse's. She knew that graceful body, like a dancer from ancient Greece: a kouros in skinny jeans.

He was very near now, and now his face had colours: she could see his skin was pale, like the inside of a shell, while his lowered eyelids were embellished with artificial shadows, blue and turquoise like flowers.

He stopped right by Mary, hand on his hip, smiling a knowing, ageless smile.

Uneven teeth, uneven eyes, and he stood there, alarmingly beautiful, the breeze playing in his spiky, punky hot red hair.

She was frozen on the spot, looking up at him.

We're in a dream, thought Mary, and she kept breathing. Or else I’m really crazy, but I don’t care, as long as I can see you, Ziggy.

She got a heady feeling in her veins: is this eternity all around?

Everything seemed still, even the sea waves toned down to a whisper and the seagulls were almost unheard of, hovering so high above the scene.

The youth plopped down near her with a contented sigh, and stretched his long limbs, his jeans riding low on thin hips.

Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath: it’s just a fantasy...

She could almost smell a new scent invading the air, a new presence, far from discreet.

A sudden rippling sound filled her ears and she opened her eyes to see the youth’s graceful arms dancing so near, so many bracelets dangling on his wrists. Long-fingered hands toying with the strange neckpiece made of colourful feathers, obviously tickling his delicate chest.

A wonderful hallucination, he closed his eyes and lay down, then rolled lazily on his side like a cat, just like he belonged there, on that beach, to that perfect moment.


	8. Never Question Youth

"Is it possible?" Mary breathed, "Is that you, Ziggy? Or... is it David?"

"I'm... both... " said the youth, turning his head towards her, a weary smile on thin lips.

His brow creased, but it was just an expression, a cloud passing on his smooth and delicate face.

"I'm a part of him,” he murmured, “Not the best, but not the worst either..."

He passed a bony hand on his face, like slipping a mask from it and his expression slowly changed back to a happy one.

A lively string of words came rippling out of his boy mouth, like they couldn’t wait a second more: "I hope I can meet him again one day soon, and thank him for everything, for the life he gave me… Because he never killed me, you know!"

He leaned on his elbow, and his intelligent eyes opened wide as he spoke, sparkling their uneven light.

"He gave me life and then he set me free, he gave me the chance to feel, and learn, and... love". With these words he picked up a handful of sand and slowly let it sift through his fingers and fly in the breeze, all the while looking at her with a meaningful expression as if to say:

"See? I had life too, like a human's".

Mary felt like on the verge of getting tearful, when suddenly a pebble hit the sand in front of Ziggy and a big smile lit up his face. Then another pebble bounced right on his head just as he was turning round, and he shouted: "Hey! Thanks, Ronno! Very romantic! I guess hitting me in the head with a stone is your own sweet way to say you love me!"

She couldn't believe her eyes: there, on the rocks, just a few steps away, sat a young Mick Ronson, lean and athletic in white sailor pants, no make-up on his handsome face, swimmer shoulders and chest well in evidence, as he was also shirtless.

If this is a dream, Mary thought to herself, it’s really full of nice details!

Mick smiled and lowered his gaze, so many precious private thoughts in his smile.

Ziggy got up and walked to the rocks, where he sat beside Mick and looked at him silently for a moment, then he leaned nearer, nuzzling the side of his friend’s neck. Mick's left hand came up to Ziggy's head, pulling him up close, so that their hair mingled, soft silver with spiky red.

Now that was something to see!

"So it's true," Mary mumbled, "...wishes are finally granted in heaven!"

Ziggy must have heard her with his keen ears, because he raised his face and there was a naughty light in his eyes as he quipped:

"Well, yeah! But if you're really really good, then you can also get a little advance while still on Earth!", and he threw a little sideways glance in Ronno's eyes.

Mick just shook his head with a bashful smile, and Mary saw his lips mouthing the words: "Get off!"

Mary sat up, and felt the evening breeze unfold like a fresh veil.

She briefly looked around: sweet orange light was reflecting down from the flaming sky, softening the blue and charcoal grey of shadows on the now deserted beach,

.

She turned and there they were still, together.

So she asked: "Am I dead, Ziggy? Is this heaven?"

"No, you're not dead!" was Ziggy's giggly reply, then he faced Mick again and added:

"But heaven, yes, could be… as I'm seeing angels!"

With that, Ziggy hopped down from the rock and so did Mick, and suddenly they looked ready to go, so she blurted out: "Wait! So, how come you're around, and Ronno too? _Is this my dream, or yours?_ "

Mick shrugged and gave her his clean, open look, then he just said:

"We're here, do you really need to know why?" and his hand gave this small gesture like framing the scene, the three of them standing in the beautiful light.

Then he hugged Ziggy closer and Mary felt it was time.

They both smiled at her and stepped back a little, then they paused again:

"Bye bye now, and take care", said Ziggy and he blew her a kiss, then they both waved and turned to climb the sand slope. On the top they stood and Ziggy waved again briefly from Mick's arms, with sparkling eyes like full of joy, then he turned away and then they were gone for good, with the last rays of the setting sun.

Mary was left sitting there, thinking, not that she had to be crazy, as she was talking with the dead, and not just any dead, but she had visions of Ziggy Stardust!

No… she just thought they looked so happy, and that now they were gone.

There goes life, she said to herself.

There goes youth. There goes.... my youth.

No logic in that thought, like there was no apparent logic in what was happening, but all the same she had a strange feeling, like some long lost meaning was hiding there somewhere in her visions, and that soon she would be able to discover it…

Mary lowered her head, feeling dizzy: she had been looking at the setting sun again and her sight was blurred, so she put her hands on her eyelids and to her surprise she realized they were closed! When had she closed them? Also, they were wet with tears.

The sand under her feet had cooled, and the sky above was now dark blue, and studded with so many stars blinking down at her. They looked alive, burning and breathing.

Ohhh, my back! she muttered, It's late!

She put her dress and flip-flops on quickly, grabbed her bag and hat and she rushed away, her heart and mind still sweet and deep in her dream.

Leaving the beach, she could hear the waves crashing in the background, as the wind always picked up in the evenings.

At the same time, she heard people's voices and a gush of warm air surrounded her, carrying delicious smells of dinner from the restaurants on the promenade.

Do I really need to know? She still felt that question in her heart.

No, she smiled to herself. Not really...


	9. Rendez-Vous at Terrazza del Duca

The following day she spent packing and trying to clear her mind. She kept her unsettling experiences temporarily aside, although she knew they couldn’t be avoided much longer. Something was waiting there, still unclear. Something to do withsealing a part of her life and facing another. But not yet.

Last day, early morning. Mary woke up in a restless mood and got everything ready quite soon.

Now she was sipping coffee at the hotel bar in Urbino, the last town she had decided to visit. Before leaving, she wished to take some final pictures from the top view of the Parco della Resistenza, not so far that she couldn’t walk up there.

So she left her travelling bags at the reception and went out.

The streets were still fairly empty of people and so silent she could almost hear her thoughts as she went her lonely way.

Actually, an unclear feeling kept coming up, and she grew tired of chasing it away. And that was:

if a thought, or something, or someone is so alive in your heart, in this country, the Country of Magic, in mysterious ways, lonely words could maybe travel far, work out a spell or even break one...

Restless and wary, lost in her thoughts, she headed up to the part of the old town facing the cathedral and the Palazzo Ducale on the other side of the valley.

The steep walk up via Raffaello seemed to mark Mary’s meditations as she kept going, past Raphael’s House and then left at the first turn.

Something was meant to happen by now, to explain everything. Or at least, something...

In a distant past such visions could have won her the aureole of a saint, or more likely a shortcut for the witches’ gallows. But nowadays... just some neurosis, to bring home as a strange souvenir.

However, claiming and proving to the world she could actually speak to fantasy creatures, or to the dead, certainly wasn’t her goal. Deep in her mind, there was a spark of faith in a sort of universal harmony, holding the most disparate aspects of life together from on high, very high above the heads of mortals.

Well, now it was about time for some of that harmony to reveal itself!

The plaque on the marble pillar said the place was called Terrazza del Duca… Mary nearly laughed when she saw that: aptly named, so if the Duke’s home is in Urbino, then this would make for some sort of rendez-vous, or...

Come on, she huffed, looking around and talking to the air:

if you definitely ARE to blow my mind in the end, let’s do it, let’s see what’s in it for me!

That’s what she was thinking, as she walked up the last steps to the park’s entrance.


	10. Meeting the Gentleman

MEETING THE GENTLEMAN

The gate was already open, the place still deserted in the morning quiet.

The park was nothing special, but from there you could enjoy a full viewof Urbino and the hilly landscape all around.

Mary took many pictures, but soon she started feeling even more restless and finally even that fairy-tale panorama looked so… empty to her.

She turned and decided to go and sit on the grass under a tree to get another perspective.

All around her, tender pink and yellow on green, melancholy mauve and lonely blue: flowers so simple but beautiful, and meaningful, just like flowers in songs...

Only, why in the world did she feel so heartbroken now, as she could smell their passing scent and feel their fresh, fragile petals under her fingers?

Oh, please… Mary sighed, although she couldn’t tell what she was pleading for.

Until her camera framed a familiar silhouette and her heart skipped a beat.

On the verge of the grassy slope, where she could swear there had been no-one just moments before, now a man was sitting, heedless of his elegant dark grey suit.

He seemed absorbed by the panorama, his chin resting on one hand, and look if he wasn’t smoking.

There was no colour but iron and silver in the man’s short hair and even from behind he appeared to be very thin.

Mary hesitated briefly, then started sauntering casually, slowly getting nearer, camera in hand.

He was wearing a pair of finely framed glasses and on the grass by his side, a pair of soft grey leather gloves were peeking out of an expensive-looking hat.

The man’s profile was unmistakable.

It was him she had been looking for, all of the time.

Mary stopped at some distance and stood in silence. Her heart was beating really fast, but she was determined not to lose control, not to blow her chance this time: unlike the other encounters, this wasn’t unexpected, quite the opposite. Now that she had come to accept a different type of reality, although the situation was far from clear, she struggled to remain calm and go with the flow.

A few more steps: she was now exactly level with him, breathtakingly near, and just as she was trying to look extremely interested in the view, the man turned his head and simply waved hello to her with his cigarette holding fingers. He didn’t look surprised, in fact immediately after he turned back to the panorama.

Somehow, Mary managed to look impassive. She just swallowed, mentally ditching the tentative approaches she had just frantically put together, then she stretched her lips in a smile, her eyes comically remaining wide open.

Suddenly, a quick doubt made her stomach clench: she didn’t think -David’s dead-, oh no, but: what if this man... wasn’t... David Bowie?

Only, that man certainly seemed very much alive. He looked quite spindly, but not even ill.

He just sat there, weirdly at ease and beautiful in his age.

This man could be some mature, distinguished ambassador stealing a private moment before a hard day on a diplomatic mission, or else a stylish cultural expert, a Royal Librarian, or the appointed curator of a prestigious museum, on some under-the-counter business rendez-vous!

Mary hesitated, her legs nearly trembling, in a moment of desperate uncertainty, but the man bowed his head, exhaling smoke, then he looked up to her, with a tight-lipped little smile and there it was: David’s classic nerdy expression, as if he had something slightly embarrassing to say.

In a remote, calm part of her mind, Mary made a consideration: he looked nothing like his artificially aged version she’d seen in an old film, this new ‘character’ suiting him so much better…

Then her heartbeat’s deafening noise called her back to the unbelievable situation that she had chosen to believe.

“May I sit by you?” she asked the grass.

“Of course, please, do.” a voice she knew replied from her right, her buzzing ears barely detecting the message.

Good thing that she couldn’t raise her eyes, for she saw his long hands promptly remove the hat and gloves, so Mary sat down next to David Bowie.


	11. About Love

Poor Mary looked around, checking reality: just a normal day, under a beautiful Italian sky, only slightly overcast.

Lord, she thought, how come I don’t feel a rush of love now? How come I don’t feel like crying? This was so crazy that Mary forgot she was supposed to speak. Instead her words were just speaking themselves quickly in her mind:

David, if this is really you, how can this be happening? I mean, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else, like, beside your wife, and your… children?

He stubbed his cigarette and turned to her again.

Then, like he had heard every word, he spoke, in a kind and slightly bored tone:

“Yes, it’s me, don’t worry, but let’s be discreet about it, ok?” he gestured to the camera: “Er, please… no pictures… I still find the effect quite embarrassing, you know…”

But Mary was just caught in the sound: his voice was so… so much what she had longed to hear, all she could think was: oh please, let me hear more!

She had forgotten that the man normally needed no invitation to bequite... talkative.

“Well, I do feel always connected with my loved ones,” he began, “if that’s what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not telepathy, believe me: it’s just what everybody keeps asking!“

Mary swallowed again, her eyes nearly bulging out.

He continued: “Yes, I’m close to my loved ones, I’m around them, I’m all over them! But I don’t want to freak them out, especially my daughter.”

He waved his left hand, looking at Mary with a worldly-wise expression, and he added: “I suppose you know how hard it can be around teenagers!”

What!?

Mary couldn’t help raising her eyebrows, and everything suddenly felt very real, as the least expected words escaped stuttering from her mouth:

“So… you…. you don’t want to freak THEM out! And what about ME?”

She pointed at herself:

“I- I can very well freak out all the time, bump into Jareth in the middle of the night… or even Ziggy himself, just about to go on a date with Ronno, if that…”

He interrupted her with a small cough, or was it laughter, and shook his head, muttering:

“Oh, Michael… A man can only endure so much...”

With a smile, he produced a silver lighter and a battered cigarette pack from his left pocket, then fished out one, mumbling inaudible words to himself.

Is this going to be your answer? thought Mary, biting her lip.

What a situation! Officially dead Bowie was sitting on the grass next to her in a park in Italy, and he was lighting his umpteenth fag, happily back to his now harmless chain-smoking habit, while she had given up on fucking New Year’s Eve, and that wasn’t even the main reason she was feeling majorly pissed off!

A suspended pause followed her outburst and Mary kept her eyes fixed ahead, absorbed in her confusion.

Then David’s voice spoke again, so very calm.

“Let me explain,” he said, his elegant hands fluttering away the smoke in a soothing gesture,

“You, and the others, are my fans, if I can use this word... What can I say… my audience, my…people. I did everything, all the licit and illicit moves, to make you dream of me, to have you imagine, and feel my presence by your side. I’ve been asking for it all the time, haven’t I?”

Mary blinked. Looking into those eyes was too hard, his cologne was maybe too much, and the air around had become sort of white, or either her sight was blurred.

“…Mary? Haven’t I?”, he repeated, softly.

“…Um, yes, I guess so, quite a lot actually…”

She tried to process the words, him knowing her name and all, through her bewilderment.

Then it happened: she slowly managed to slow down her breath and just plug into memories that came flushing back, and finally made her smile. Go with the flow, she repeated in her mind. Go with this vision you wanted so much to have.

She closed her prickling eyes, remembering some scenes and suddenly burst out laughing: it’s nerves, she thought, But this I really have to tell…

“Well, with all that teasing: Ziggy! The Duke! What you came up with Tin Machine, and… ” She eyed him, smiling bashfully, but the end to the sentence she just spoke in her mind: Oh yes, sir… sure that’s what you did!

This time they both laughed together, although there was obviously so much more to say… but what was all this coming to, in the end?

A smile lingered behind his glasses, then he went on, on a more serious tone:

“Yes, I thrived in your love… Stifling hot! I did all my tricks to conquer your hearts!” he said, his hands on his chest. “I played cool about it, but I had this idea… I really owned hearts, in a way”.

“So, when all those sweet tears began swelling up, I wasn’t surprised, but then... Those hearts continued to be in pain, such pain! Tears, tears, nightmares about me dying… Honestly, I felt guilty.”

“You… felt guilty because you had to die?”

“No, “ he sighed, “I felt guilty because the game had been… unfair. I had always taken great care to keep my faculty to retreat to my own private persona. I gradually won it for myself and never let go of it again! But those people, they loved me all up, they did not keep anything back.”

He shook his head slowly, then raised his uneven eyes to hers and added:

“Did you?”.

Frankly, those eyes really looked different colours, and Mary found it difficult to concentrate, so she just opened her mouth but nothing came out, and he went on.

“‘Don’t fake it! Lay the real thing on me!’”, his fingers punctuating the words, like throwing darts, then his voice became a whisper, “…And that’s what you did. People mourned, many of them even feeling stupid, because I was no... dead husband to them, or brother, or father, and yet…”

“True, you aren’t, but even so….”

“No… no” he put up his hands, “Let me explain it completely… I’ve willed this thing on you all: being able to see me was something you always wanted, and I tell you, now I positively know that the youngest, the most loving, the most imaginative, could actually see me, even feel me in a way, through their love! And they didn’t even stop to wonder about it!”

“…While for my wife and children it was all so different…”

His eyes sparkled behind glasses and, yes, they were exactly the same colour.

“To them, with them, I’ve always been just… me. And I was there, sitting at my place, at our table. David Jones, Daddy. And Daddy’s gone. I’m materially gone from their world now, although they know I would certainly keep my eyes on them if I could, and wait for them, always.”

He paused. Now it was his turn to speak to the grass:

“That they know very well, because we’ve arranged it, some time… before. I promised that if I could…. But… you see, now my chair’s empty!” his hands came up again and joined briefly on his lips as he spoke under his breath: “…They are trying so hard to cope.”

Looking at Mary, he tapped his chest, adding: “Now for me it’s ok, but it’s so hard for them… I really don’t want to mess with their minds.”

A sad look came upon her and he seemed to notice it, so he leaned down and tried to look at her lowered face. His voice came out softer:

“Do you understand now, Mary ?”

“I think I do, now.” she murmured.

Then something in her expression changed and her tone of voice sounded focused, even pointy when she asked:

“Do you think that happens to all families? That they can’t see… but… But someone they loved is there by them, actually?”

He paused a few seconds, then, instead of speaking, he reached for another cigarette.

Mary kept her eyes on him, but he said nothing until after the first toke.

“I really wish I could answer, but… I don’t know, I’m not even sure what will happen next, I mean…”

Mary didn’t wait for him to finish. She turned away and just stared at the trees. Then, she didn’t know why, all of her tears suddenly seemed to be coming back to her, from where they had disappeared long before. Now, they threatened to flow out all together.

“No, no! Not now!” thought Mary, hiding her face in her hands.

But David had seen her, so he came to her rescue:

“Hey, I’m sorry… Now, now… Here… Listen! I know something else!”

She parted her fingers to look at him, so he continued, trying to hook her attention:

“I know something about… you!”

Mary stopped crying at once and looked at him, wide-eyed and sniffling.

“About me?”

“Well… yes!” he replied, sitting up.

“Remember when you were eleven” said he, a smile in his voice, “ …or were you twelve already? You used to look up from your window at the evening sky. The big star that always shined first? … By the way, that’s Sirius, mind you, no space-ship… However! Do you remember what you used to think?”

“Oh my God… How can you know… I had forgotten that…” Mary groaned, but what she felt was intimate, and sweet, like fairy tales before sleeping.

“Then, you grew up, and I think you can remember some scenes you saw with your mind’s eyes. Sandy beach, where the waves kept hitting, and hitting? Was the water cold, or… hot?”

Mary didn’t turn her head, moving only her eyes: what? His tone was casual and light, but she thought she could hear a bit of Jareth’s tease in it!

She swallowed and tried to look somewhere else, blushing, but he didn’t stop.

“And what about you walking home that time? You were carrying groceries, very fed up with the day and people’s faces? You were thinking of me. It wasn’t that long ago.”

“… Remember seeing me in your fantasy, on the other side of the escalator? I think that hungry look made you quite sexy, as you were fancying a snog in the street…”

There was no denying and no use wondering how he could know. Those things were just true.

And his voice was sounding a little… smug!

Mary briskly turned and faced him: he even looked decidedly younger, or just very much himself: hint of teeth, jaw slightly open and shifted to the side, look from down up, dark smile.

But then his voice became dreamy, and he pointed at Mary:

“Oh, your heart even fluttered, and you were really there in the moment… just as I was.”

Oh dear, thought she, trying to focus. And she failed, so she nearly asked it aloud:

Who the fuck are you really?

But she couldn’t speak, just looked at him: whatever idea that man was trying to convey, there was no resisting him. Dead or not, he really was one hell of a talker!

“Are you getting that now?” said he, with an expressive gesture of his talking left hand:

“That’s what I meant: you have ‘met’ me many times already, and many others have. Actually, you‘ve made me alive in your lives many times, many hours. Some have given me years of their lives, some have travelled hundreds of miles. In the early days, kids even got beatings from their parents and school bullies because of me!”

His tone was back to serious again now:

“So I suppose I owe you a lot, and maybe that’s why I have to stick around and meet you, stay with you and give you back that time, before I go my way…”

His voice trailed into the morning wind, in such a melancholy way and Mary was struck by a thought:

Oh, could it be, oh my! It’s so like The Tale of the Ancient Mariner! No, it’s more like that fairy tale… Now I get it! It’s a sort of spell we need to break, isn’t it? Sure THAT could be the sense of this whole crazy adventure!

So she blubbered: “David! Is that true? It’s some curse, like Beauty and the Beast, isn’t it?! You can tell me! But you've got so many fans... This way you're going to spend your eternity trying to free yourself!”

He looked bewildered for a second, considering her heartfelt words, then he seemed to grasp an idea: his eyes widened and he rapidly shook his head, his hands mid-air: “Er… no, no! No curse!”

He shifted a bit on the soft grass, explaining: “We-ell, no... fact is, now I quite… enjoy being around... What I told you is true, but it’s more like… paying visits to friends you haven’t seen for quite a while, and suddenly remembering how good it felt being together!”

Mary sighed to herself: Allright... there goes the sense of the whole crazy adventure!

But David had more explaining to do, so she kept listening, obediently.

“You see, I’ve been messed up for a time, after… The first months I didn’t know what to do, I felt like I had nothing on my hands. I felt like a pensioner! Everyone’s wished me a peaceful rest, but.... I was never big on that…and people certainly don’t change at my age.” he added, shaking his head.

“Then, I learned that it wasn’t a matter of resting as much as… relaxing! I began travelling light and paying visits around the world. Besides, I’ve always liked art, and well, Italy, ah …” he made an eloquent gesture towards the view in front.

So? Mary’s commotion was deflated. But a more mature and loving feeling grew out of it. She looked at him straight: she could see the lines on his face and suddenly it was like she was looking at an image of herself.

“So," she said, "do your fans actually see you 'paying visits' to them?”

“Well, no,” replied David. “Only the… very keen, the all-unhappy, the ones who have lent me years of their life. It’s only fair… And I try to be careful, so normally they think they’re just imagining it…”

Mary raised her eyebrows, but she thought better of it this time and said nothing. She only looked at him as he smiled and said: “In any case, afterwards they feel better, and so do I!”

At that, she thought: And think that I believed I had some type of remote familiarity with this man, but no, I really don’t know him, at all.

THIS was no character. In the most mysterious way, this was him, truly him, his essence, more unknown to her than ever.

And she had something to clarify as well, so she spoke, as sincerely as she could:

“David… in my case, those years were just part of my life, of my childhood, with my brother buying records and coming home to put them on. It was so exciting to follow you! You took nothing from me, it was only right. Now, about the... rest, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about bothering you, mourning... so much. I now understand I know nothing of the real you. And… I can see you look ok, and I don’t care if I’m imagining it or not, that’s good enough for me.”

He nodded with a satisfied expression. But a second later he was already chasing another thought, while she still felt quite shaken with what she had just said: Mary had apparently come to her conclusion, while he obviously hadn’t.

“Well,” he said, tirelessly, “I guess we can’t possibly understand, much less explain the way it works out there, or even verify if _there_ is really _out_ or _up_ or sort of _beyond_ … I can only tell you, after these first months, that all this is…. mind-blowing, I’m over my head in it and I can’t stop marveling, it’s sooo interesting I’m over excited! It’s… it’s …it’s really out of sight!” With these words, he smiled and wriggled in excitement.

Oh my, thought Mary, everything changes, but actually not. This guy really, really loves life!

She was genuinely amused now, her otherworldly encounter beginning to sound like the ultimate interview.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I won’t ask you awkward questions like “So, how does God look like?” or “Can you see us when we’re in the toilet?”

He laughed his beautiful laugh: such a joy to see it again!

Mary sighed, as she had to smile: yes, perhaps it was true, something she did know about that man… This was David all the way… He had managed somehow to put a piece of his rainbow personality in the hand of each of his millions lovers. And in all of its different shades it was… true. Art and sublime fakery all together as always. Vanity, generosity, shrewdness and tenderness, bright intelligence, as always..

Some unbearably sweet tension was clutching her stomach. She had thought of meeting Jareth as unsettling… This was much, much more. No fairy tale, but just love. This was her way to give him back his time, his life, his personal freedom, even to be gone. Away with all those sweet tears, those desperate claims, like chains of possession.

Her heart was rippling with joy, although she could just smile lovingly and her looks could barely brush David’s face and hands like kissing him with her eyes. On many different layers, this was overdrive.


	12. Not the Way This Was Supposed to End

So it was really unexpected when he looked her in the eye and said:

"And you, however… Isn't it about time you came to terms with it? It's been more than a year now..."

"What are you saying," she replied, thinking: my God, this is difficult.

"David, it was... January... It... now it's barely more than eight months..."

"I'm not talking about myself," his voice was gentle but sharp, "I'm talking about your father."

At first Mary was just startled, then her cheeks started burning and she felt a turmoil of rapid emotions: panic, yes, then shame and even anger, as if she had been… found out.

Finally, astonishment prevailed, because those feelings just wouldn’t fit the situation: they couldn’t relate to the person sitting so near her, in front of that open landscape.

Suddenly, the world was turning above her head and all around, so that she felt almost queasy and she couldn’t look at him, just at her shoes, bless them, still there on the ground.

Then she put some trembling words together:

“And… asking you how you know about it would qualify as one of those… awkward questions, I guess.”

He looked up, pressing his thin lips together and hesitating before answering, then finally said: “Well, no, I don’t think that’s an awkward question, it’s only that, again, I don’t have any answer to it!”

His shoulders slumped, like defeated, “I don’t have ANY answers, actually! Only questions…”

He counted on his fingers: “How do I know about it? And why am I still here? And for how long? And how can I be here and at the same time I can be somewhere else, with someone else! Like it’s all happening now… Or was it… before?” he asked her, with a confused expression that really made him look like a David Jones.

“Oh my God!” said Mary, “ Don’t look at me that way… I’m just aliv…, I mean, I’m still strugglingwith the basic set of questions! About this… life.”

“Yes… of course.” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Silence came over.

Crickets, birds, soft human sounds from the city in the distance.

Then she said:

“See, I let the trees and bushes grow in my father’s garden. I let the plums fall in the grass, and the figs on the branches, nobody picked them this year… I guess I wasn’t in my right mind: I sat there and thought I could tell the birds to come and mourn, but they were so happy about the fruit, instead.”

“Rightfully so, I daresay,” he replied, “Are you jealous of them? Or just… displeased?” he looked at her, his eyebrow arched in a meaningful look.

Mary shook her head, then put her hands to it, sighing.

“Oh no, not at all, they are so beautiful… They actually were the only beautiful thing around, they were... alive.”

“And they made YOU feel alive? Although HE was dead. Although your loved ones were dead?” his look became piercing,

“Is that what makes you feel edgy about it? Because you were left to live?”

Mary shook her head and her shoulders too sank to a sad slump as she murmured:

“I don’t know, I’m… lost…”

She looked up at him through tears: he could have been anyone, but his posture, leaning towards her in a protective way, trying to look into her face, spoke of tenderness, of nearness, that much Mary could feel.

Finally he spoke again: “No, you aren’t... lost, believe me. I don’t know much, I told you. But this one thing I already suspected, now I know for true: people who loved you and were there for you, they don’t really leave… Don’t ask me how it’s done, but it’s like they put their loving mark within you, so in a way they’re there. It’s not priest talk, or some new age shit… To me, it looks like some not yet discovered aspect of science… Something to do with quantum physics…”

His voice trailed, and he seemed to be chasing a precise idea, then he snapped his fingers and he took out a small black notebook and a pen, mumbling something, and he started scribbling on it, all the while searching his pockets for another cigarette.

Mary was tired now, but in a good way. Was this the meaning she had been looking for? She didn’t know, but somehow their conversation felt complete now. She would probably find her answer much later in the words that had been spoken, either in the air or just in her mind.

The sky looked so vast and so light now. And also her shoulders felt lighter, although she was tired, and suddenly she remembered her journey back: perhaps she could get some sleep in the train…

Wasn’t that such a small thought to have right now, she wondered to herself, shaking her head, as her gaze fell down to their feet in the grass, small red shoe next to big black one.

Now she had to say goodbye. There was no best way to do it.

“Ok, I suppose I’d better go…”, she finally said, getting up.

“I see,” he replied, getting up himself. “Yes. You’d better go. Take care of yourself, and… don’t worry, I’ll be fine... I’m fine.”

Her look fell on his lips, on his arms: “Can I… I mean, do you think it is possible to…?”

He creased his brow, but his mouth was smiling: “To touch?” he shrugged apologetically, then smiled again: “Well, I’m afraid we can’t materially touch, but remember: if looks can love…”

“Oh, ok... ” Mary said under her breath, “…So, I love love love you.”

“Thank you so much for your love…. I really love you, all. And I love you. Can you believe that…” His smile was sweet and… confused, inward, like smiling to himself.

Mary looked towards the park gate and she noticed that the sky had cleared and the gentle sun of the declining summer had come out, so that the part of town surrounding the Palazzo looked all glimmering and sparkling.

Then he pointed his cigarette to the view and said: “I think I’ll stay here some more...”

“Sure,” simply said Mary, and stepped back, waving and returning his kisses.

Then she turned around, and walked out of the gate, to her way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first fic I wrote. Naive and faulty as it is, I've decided to publish it finally, as a January Bowie Celebration.


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